


A Man Has Needs

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: A hunt goes wrong and Bobby's left to deal with the fallout.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: Part of the Bobby!John 'verse  
John (age 40), Dean (age 14), Sammy (age 10)  


* * *

The sparks from the arc welder flew around Bobby as he concentrated on the joint he was welding together. It was his fourth try at fabricating a variation on a bear trap that he wasn’t sure exactly what it would catch, but whatever it was would undoubtedly be mean and nasty. He’d been holed up in his workshop since two in the morning last night and, gazing through the window, Bobby could tell it was probably later in the afternoon. He shut off the arc welder and flipped his mask off, knowing he should eat.

 

He was on his way back to the house when he heard an all too familiar roar of a V8 engine. He looked down the gravel lane to see a cloud of dust in the distance he knew was harbouring a black Impala. Last time he had seen John Winchester, he had thrown a beer bottle at the man’s head. He grabbed a shot gun from the back of his pick up and cradled it in the crook of his arm. When dealing with a Winchester, you never could be too careful because where John went, trouble usually followed.

 

Bobby watched with a certain amount of fascination as the Impala came flying into the yard a hell of a lot faster than normal. He took an unconscious step back as the car came to a grinding halt no more than two feet in front of him. Between the glare of the sun on the windshield and the dust cloud, it took him a few minutes to make out the driver. He was around the side of the car in an instant when the dust cleared.

 

“Holy shit,” Bobby hissed under his breath.

 

Dean’s fourteen year old face was streaked in gore, dirt, and tears. His hands were gripping the steering wheel of the Impala so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Bobby looked into the back seat and his breath caught in his throat. His blood was pounding so loud in his own head it took him a few minutes to realize that little Sammy was out right wailing as he cradled John’s head in his lap. The boy had more blood on him than anything Bobby had ever seen.

 

The door flung open and Dean stumbled out, his hands scrabbling in the gravel. His head hung down as his nerves finally gave up and he threw up right onto Bobby's boots. Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at Bobby with imploring eyes. 

 

"Bobby... my Dad..."

 

Bobby reached down and helped Dean up, his hands resting on the boy’s shoulders to keep him upright. “I know, Dean. I need you to listen to me. I want you to get your brother out of the car, take him in and get him cleaned up. You need to tend to him for a few minutes. Get him calmed down. If you have to, get one of the vials out of the medicine cabinet. Remember the one I gave you before when you got really messed up by the black dog?” Bobby waited for Dean’s nod. “You know how to administer it. If he won’t calm down, give him the shot. Then I’m gonna need you to come into my room and help me with your dad for a little bit. But I need you to calm down and I need your head in the game, got that?”

 

Dean was pale, but he responded to the authoritative tone automatically. “Yes, sir,” Dean said, his voice shaky. “But I’m not leaving Dad. He needs me… you need my help. Sammy’ll behave.” And before Bobby could answer, Dean was running around to other side. He opened the door and pulled his weeping brother out of the seat. Dean’s fingers dug into Sam’s shoulder and he shook him. “Sammy, you need to shut up. You gotta stop crying. I can’t take care of you right now. I’ve got to help Dad.” To Bobby, he looked like a little boy trying to be the soldier his dad was raising him to be.

 

Sam’s whole body was shaking and the tears wouldn’t stop. “Daddy won’t wake up for me! Dean, what’s wrong with him!?” Sam’s voice kept rising in pitch with every word he spoke. “They’ll take us away! They’ll make me leave you behind if he d-d-d…”

 

"You need to shut up," Dean told him, but it sounded more imploring. Dean looked up and saw that Bobby had opened the back seat door and was starting to assess John. Sammy had been sitting in the backseat with their Dad during the frantic trip, his head in the boy’s lap. When Sam only sobbed harder, Dean became desperate. His father had told him after the poltergeist attacked him that Dean had be strong. He didn’t feel strong. Now that he was at Bobby’s all he wanted to do was cry, but that wasn’t an option. Bobby needed him to help now and Sam would get in the way. The panic welled deep inside and he did the only thing that came to mind to stop his brother from crying quickly. Dean slapped Sammy across the cheek.

 

The sound of the slap had Bobby snapping his head up, busting it on the interior of the Impala. He had a profile look at the boys and could see the red handprint clear as day on Sammy’s cheek. The younger boy’s mouth was open, eyes wide and only momentarily silenced before the loud heart wrenching wail of a child cut through the air like a knife. Bobby sighed to himself and started pulling John’s shirts back down. Nasty, nasty cuts and some of them pretty deep.

 

“Dean!” he yelled, scooting himself out of the back of the Impala. “Dean, you need to get your brother inside. He’s in shock. Give him the damn shot and get to my room. I gotta get your dad in the house now.”

 

“No!" Dean yelled back. "You can't get him into the house alone." He gave Sam a shove towards the porch steps and started to move around to the other side of the car. "Sam, go in the house! I'm not gonna baby you now! Hold the door open for me and Bobby while we carry dad in. Then, run hot water in the tub and get clean towels together."

 

Sam was still wailing as he went inside but at least he was listening. Carefully, Bobby lifted John's legs a bit pulling him along the seat until he was out from the waist down. He turned to Dean and nodded to John's legs. "I'm more worried about the abdominal and head wounds than anything. I'm not gonna lie to ya, Dean-o, this is pretty damn serious. I want you to take hold of his feet and keep pulling, slowly now. That way I can get him from under his arms. You got that?" Bobby waited for Dean's nod of understanding before he moved flush against the car. "Careful. Just a bit more." John's body was in the perfect position and Bobby moved, running to climb in through the other door. He lifted John's upper body, letting the man's head rest against his shoulder as he hooked his own arms beneath John's armpits. "Steady as she goes, Dean."

 

"Yes, sir," Dean answered and hefted his father's legs around his waist. He had already failed his father by not watching his back like he should, but he wouldn't fail at this. He would let his father die. "He'll be fine." It was said more to himself than anyone.

 

Very carefully they manoeuvred John up the steps and into the house, moving down the hall into Bobby’s bedroom. Once he was settled onto the bed, Bobby turned to grab the medical kit on his dresser. He knew he’d catch hell for shredding the clothes off of John, but they were pretty much a goner as it was. Still, John would bitch about it until the end of time. As he started cutting away the undershirt and flannel, Sam came into the room. The kid was still crying albeit more quietly than before. In his arms were the towels Dean had requested. He may have been upset but he was functioning. “Dean, what did this to your dad?” 

 

“Poltergeist," Dean answered obediently, watching Bobby work intently. He motioned for Sam to set the towels on the dresser. "He passed out before he could give me orders. I knew better than to take him to a hospital. I could only think of bringing him here... to you... was I wrong?"

 

“No, Dean, you did almost everything right. I just wish you would’ve tried to call me to let me know you were coming out. I could have had everything ready to go before you got here. Hand me one of those towels, would ya, Sammy-boy? If you’re gonna insist on stayin’ in here you’re gonna have to help.” Bobby took the towel Sam offered him and gave the kid a weak smile. “Why don’t you go and get me a bowl of that hot water out of the tub. You remember where I keep the really big bowls at, right?”

 

Sam nodded silently and tore out of the room, happy to have a mission to help. Anything to take his mind off his father bleeding in the next room. Dean on the other hand was still wrapped in guilt. "I called... no one answered."

 

“Damn it. I was out in the shop half the day anyway, probably why you couldn’t get through. I’m gonna have to get a line run out there ASAP. You realize your old man’s gonna flip when he finds out you drove the Impala here, right?” Bobby managed a chuckle, trying hard to get Dean’s mood to lighten a bit. Dean just stared at Bobby’s hands as he finished cutting the jeans off of John. There were so many scars over him. Bobby knew most of them, hell he’d even put a few there himself in the past. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Alright kiddo, I gotta go scrub my hands down before I start cleaning him up and piecing him back together. When Sammy gets back in here with the bowl, have him set it right here on the nightstand. Then I want you to get him to lie down on the cot over there and relax a bit. Your daddy teach you how to stitch up a wound like he promised?”

 

“He had me practising on pig carcasses after we left last time." Dean reported back. "But I'm not supposed to tell anyone because they'll think it's morbid.” John had said the only people you really could trust were family, but he had always trusted Bobby. It was the reason Dean had come here instead of a hospital. When his father was drunk one night, he had told Dean that Bobby was the type of family you chose, then he had proceeded to call the a bastard with a warm laugh.

 

Nodding his head, Bobby stood up from the bed. “Well, I don’t think it’s morbid at all. In fact, I think it’s pretty damn practical considering what we do. I’m gonna need your help with some of these. The quicker we get ‘em sutured, the quicker we can get your dad settled in to rest up.” He dropped a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he started for the door. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll be back in a few minutes then you’re gonna need to scrub up, too. Get a change of clothes out for you and Sammy from your room. I want you both changed and you definitely ready to go when I’m done, alright?”

 

"Yes, sir," Dean answered. His eyes where glued to his father's chest, watching his laboured breathing. He felt numb, but that was good. That was the state he had learned to escape to in order to forget the pain and follow orders. Now he had to follow Bobby's orders to fix their father up.

 

Sam came waddling in, trying carefully to keep the hot water from spilling over the edge of the bowl. His face was screwed up in concentration, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. “Dean, it’s heavy. Dean….Dean!” 

 

Dean jumped at the sound of Sammy’s voice when it finally got through to him. “Alright, hold on a second.” He swiped the side table clear and took the bowl from Sam’s hands. “I need you to go to the spare room. Grab a change of clothes for both of us.” Dean turned around when he heard their father give a low moan. He practically tripped over his own two feet getting next to the bed. “Dad? Dad?” There was another light moan and John’s head turned from one side to the other. When he got no response, Dean laid his fingers on his father’s neck, checking for a pulse. It was still there. With an audible sigh, he turned to Sam who was staring at their father with wide eyes. “Sammy, go! I gotta help Bobby but we gotta get cleaned up first.”

 

The next half hour passed with frightening familiarity for both Bobby and the Winchester boys. Dean and Bobby worked to stitch John up, who was starting to rouse out of his sleep induced misery, swearing nearly unintelligibly under his breath. Dean had demonstrated a skill for clean, neat switches and worked with quiet intensity. Bobby had tried to get Sammy to leave the room but Dean had said his brother needed to get used to things like this. At the end of it all, Bobby tugged a clean sheet up over John's bandaged chest with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna kick your ass for getting yourself hurt again, Winchester."

 

He turned to look at where Dean had sat down on the cot with Sammy. His head was resting back against the wall and he was half asleep from exhaustion. Bobby shook his head and walked over, kneeling down in front of where Sam sat looking at his father. “How ya doin’ here, Sammy? You think you can manage a few hours away from your old man to get some sleep?”

 

Sammy rubbed his eyes that where still puffy and red from crying. He looked over at Dean sitting on the end of the cot but was completely off in his own little word, still staring at their father. Sammy knew that Dean was waiting for their Dad to give him orders. Sammy tugged at Bobby's shirt until he leaned in closer and Sam whispered in his ear. "I'm fine, sir. But Dean... he's waiting for Dad to tell him what to do."

 

Turning to look back over at the bed, Bobby wondered if John could wake up and stay up long enough to direct his eldest to get some sleep. It was worth a shot at trying. John never did manage to take well to the meds. They just never really worked well enough to keep him under or out of pain. High tolerance to it all, John had said. Takes a lot to keep a good man down.

 

Walking over, Bobby sat down gingerly on the bed, resting his hand on the one shoulder that hadn’t gotten a single scratch. “Hey there, asshole.” He gave John’s shoulder a little poke. John grumbled but a small smile caught at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Only asshole ‘round here’s you, Singer.”

 

Bobby chuckled. “Listen up. Your Dean’s waiting for some orders. I’ve done that enough and I don’t think he’s gonna listen to me as it is now that his daddy’s decided to stick around with the land of the living a bit longer. Mind tellin’ him to take his tired ass on to bed? We got ourselves a bit of talkin’ to do anyway. Wanna find out what went so wrong on this lil’ huntin’ trip of yours.”

 

John shifted a bit on the bed and managed to raise his head up a bit to look at his eldest son. “Dean, it’s over,” John told him. When Dean didn’t move, John exchanged a worried look with Bobby. Sometimes Dean was too much of a perfect solider. “Stand down, boy. You hear me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered and his shoulders slumped.

 

“You did good, Dean,” John told him, knowing the praise would keep some of the guilt away. “Real good. You need to clean up and then take Sammy to get some sleep.”

 

Dean cast a worried glance at his father before dropping his gaze back to the floor in front of him. “Yes, sir. Should I run extra laps in the morning when I get up?” Dean was just waiting for the reprimand he knew he deserved. If he had been paying more attention to the actual readings on his EMF meter instead of checking out all the old stuff in the house John never would have gotten caught off guard in the first place.

 

John's head flopped back onto the pillow. His temples were throbbing and he couldn't deal with this right now. Dean was developing some strange habits. He saw his youngest son had moved to stand near the doorway, using his sleeve to stop his runny nose. "Sammy, can you take care of your brother for me? You did such a good job with me. I'm proud of you, buddy."

 

“Yes, sir,” Sammy answered, walking over the bed. He climbed carefully up and leaned down to whisper in John’s ear. “I’m glad you didn’t die, Dad.” He sat back and smiled at his father, who reached up and ruffled his youngest son’s hair. He got back down and grabbed Dean by the arm. “C’mon, Dean. Dad said I had to take care of you, so we’re going to bed.” He stopped before he got to the door and turned around. “Dad, you didn’t say that Dean had to run extra laps. So if he thinks he needs to be punished, can I make up the punishment instead?”

 

“What did you have in mind, Sammy?” John asked, turning his head to the side so he could see not only Sam’s face but Dean’s suddenly tense expression.

 

“Pancakes…with blueberries in the morning,” came the semi-happy reply.

 

“Dean, cook your brother pancakes in the morning. That’s an order.”

 

Dean barely had time to mumble, “Yes, sir,” before Sammy grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the bedroom.

 

Bobby got up and closed the door behind them. While Sammy had gotten out of the Impala in shock, it was now Dean who was starting to crumble. “Pancakes? That’s not much of a punishment. Is he the reason you’re all torn up, John?”

 

John groaned and shifted on the bed. “It’s partially my fault as it is. I’ve been pushing him hard lately. He’s usually right on target and ready to go. I’ll deal with it when I’m feeling a bit better. I’ll just run him through the tried and true refresher course.” John’s eyes slipped closed for a moment and then he was peering out at Bobby through one eye. “You mean to tell me you didn’t shoot first and ask questions later when the car pulled in the driveway?”

 

“I was holding a rifle," Bobby said and sat on the side of the bed. "You should be happy I didn't put a hole in one of your offspring."

 

“Nice to know you’re reflexes are going down the tube then, huh?” John’s voice held just a hint of merriment. “Dean really drive all the way here? And please tell me my car’s still in one piece, come to think of it.”

 

"The Impala's fine," Bobby assured him. He reached up and adjusted a bandage on John's chest. "He drove the whole way with you passed out in the backseat and Sammy freaking out on top of that. You're lucky he didn't get pulled over. How would that have looked, Johnny-boy?"

 

John smacked at Bobby’s hand, his eyes lowering just a bit to glare at the man. “And staying behind at that house with a psycho poltergeist would have just solved all our problems, wouldn’t it? Dean did what he was trained to do. Get him and his brother to safety.”

 

Bobby was silent for a moment, trying to think about what to say next. "And that safe place was here... with me?"

 

“Well, let’s see…Jim is five states away. Sammy is scared to death of Caleb and Dean knows that. He’d only have gone there if it was a last resort. He doesn’t know Ellen so the Roadhouse was out. I don’t really keep a lot of friends around as it is and I sure as hell am not letting the boys mix it up in the hunter’s community. They need to learn to stand on their own first. So, yeah, safe place was here.” John’s gaze was hard as he stared at Bobby. “There some kind of problem here, Bobby? Do I need to pack them up and head on down the road?”

 

Now Bobby smiled at John's rant and he scratched the five o'clock shadow on his chin. Seeing that fire in John made him know the tough bastard was going to be okay. "Nope. I don't mind being a safe place for the likes of you. Always have been..." He looked at John and added, "Always will be."

 

John groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. “Christo.”

 

Bobby punched John lightly in the arm and chuckled, "Just checking to see if your mind was in tact. Sometimes I wonder if it’s slipping. You look beat... you want me to take the cot?"

 

“You think that rickety piece of crap is gonna hold you?”

 

“Good point," Bobby seemed to consider the cot. "I honestly don't know. Haven't slept there in years."

 

“Right, so what’s the point in starting now?” John answered, waggling his eyebrows at Bobby. “Ya need to check on the boys first though. Guess I gave them a pretty good scare today. Then, since you’ve been so kind to me by playing nursemaid, you can check over your handwork again. See if there isn’t any other problems that may have…popped up.”

 

Bobby groaned and rolled his eyes. "Every damn time. You're no better than a fucking teenager after a hunt."

 

“Yeah, maybe that’s true. But I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one staining the sheets up in this place. I seem to remember a lot of ‘oh yeah’ and ‘like that’ coming out of your mouth.” John shifted a bit on the bed and managed to turn on his side. “You keep sayin’ that the next time I come back is gonna be the last time and yet we always end up right here in this room.”

 

“Ya know what…” Bobby started to say.

 

“Daddy? Daddy, Dean locked himself in the bathroom and he won’t come out.”

 

John knew it was bad when Sam called him ‘Daddy’. The boys only called him that when they were sick or something was seriously wrong. These days, it was only Sam he heard it from now that Dean thought he was a man.

 

“In the bathroom?” John groaned and tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down by Bobby’s large hand.

 

“I don’t think so, you idiot. I’ll handle this. You don’t need to pop any stitches,” Bobby growled at him and stood up. “Sammy, stay with your old man. Makes sure he stays put. I gotta go have a little talk with Dean-o”.

 

Sam tilted his head sideways. “It sounded like he was puking and then like he was hiccupping. It was really weird and he yelled at me to leave him alone. Wouldn’t let me in.” Sam sighed and walked up onto the bed next to John. “I tried to take care of him, Daddy, like you told me to. He wouldn’t let me.”

 

"It's okay," John said and patted the spot next to him. "You tried. Bobby'll talk to him." Sammy scrambled onto the bed and curled up next to John. He then turned to his friend, "He thinks he's a man now, and I know I expect too much of him sometimes..."

 

“Leave it to me, Johnny. What he can’t and won’t say to you, maybe he’ll say to me. We’ll just have a nice little man to man chat.” He gave a wink to John and then looked at Sam. “Alright, Samuel Winchester, your job is to keep the prisoner from moving around and ripping out all the hard work me and your brother did earlier. If he attempts to move, you have my permission to tickle him into submission without any underlying repercussions. If you should fail your objective the consequences will be dire.”

 

Sammy saluted Bobby and grinned. “Yes, sir. I’m on the job.”

 

Bobby snapped his feet together and returned the salute. “Carry on then.” He could hear the giggles, and not all of them Sammy’s, follow him down the hallway to where the spare bedroom and half-bath were located.

 

Bobby knocked on the door and heard retching from inside the bathroom. "A courtesy flush would be nice."

 

There was a groan from behind the door and then the sound of the toilet flushing. He waited a few moments but the door stayed firmly in place. “Come on, Dean-o, open on up. You scared your brother pretty bad by locking yourself in there. Ya know he was only trying to help you and following your dad’s orders.” After a few seconds the door opened, but Dean averted looking directly at Bobby choosing instead to stare at the floor. “You want me to come in there or do you wanna do this in the room?”

 

Dean was trying to hide that he had been crying. Like he had just gone to the bathroom to take a piss. "Did dad send you to punish me?"

 

Propelling Dean into the spare bedroom by his shoulders, Bobby got him to sit down on the bed. “Didn’t you hear your father earlier? Pancake duty first thing in the morning was your punishment.” Dean made a face that clearly spoke of disbelief. “Look, Dean, you think you need to be punished. Fine, I get that. But ya know what, I think this is punishment enough for you. You’ve been through hell today, kid, and ya know what? You did right by your father and by your brother. So, you got yourself distracted, your dad told me about that. I think you’ve made up for it.”

 

Dean shook his head and looked out the window. "I nearly got him killed. There's no excuse for that. I didn't do my duty..."

 

“You messed up.” Bobby reached out and cupped Dean’s chin, feeling it quiver ever so slightly beneath his touch. He forced Dean to look at him. “It’s all your fault, Dean. You weren’t paying attention on purpose. Hell, you probably summoned that ghost all on your own. You wanted him dead and you wanted your spoiled brat of a brother to finally leave you alone. Sure thing. Well, ya failed big time. Next time it’d be easier for you to just get the Glock out of the glove compartment and do it yourself.”

 

Bobby was trying to get Dean mad. To get him to lash out and get it out of his system. "I didn't do that but..." The boy's voice was quit and uneven. "It is my fault. Bobby... before I hurt Dad like that again, I'd rather use that Glock on myself."

 

“Alright, so you’re gonna make me work for this, aren’t ya?” Bobby scooted closer and bumped his shoulder with Dean’s. “I’ve seen a lot in my years, Dean. One of the things that get me every time is you and your dad. You do whatever he asks you to, no questions asked most of the time unless it’s concerning your brother. Your dad knows you didn’t do it intentionally. And if it makes you feel any better, he’s already planning a refresher course for ya once he’s feeling a bit better. You know why he’s doing that?” Bobby waited until Dean shook his head no. “Because he needs to be the one to put you through your paces. Sounds weird, but it’s like a refresher course for him, too. Reminds him why he works so damn hard going after all these baddies in the first place.”

 

Dean's fingers dug into this jean covered thigh. "I didn't do anything intentionally, sir. That's the problem. I let my mind wander... Our family can't afford those sorts of mistakes. Dad hunts to avenge mom... I hunt because he needs me.”

 

“Dean,” Bobby reached out and covered the boy’s hand with one of his own. “You’re not much more than a child yourself. You’ve had a lot of responsibilities laid on you now. You’ve done your dad really proud.” He got a small smile out of Dean, which meant he was making some kind of headway. “But, I’m not gonna coddle you either if you’re gonna be so damn stubborn about taking this like a man. All it takes is one slip up, as you saw today. I think you realize now exactly why your father treats you boys the way he does. So, now I want you to tell me something. I want you to tell me exactly what kind of punishment you think you deserve.”

 

Dean pulled his hand away from Bobby and crossed his arms over his chest. "Something fitting. When he finds out what I was thinking about... about what distracted me..."

 

“What was it, Dean?”

 

“Girls…” Dean admitted. He closed his eyes in pain and let out a deep breath. “And… guys.”

 

Bobby faked a cough to hide his amusement. It was only natural for Dean to be thinking these kinds of thoughts. He was fourteen. He just needed a bit of clarification on the subject before he delved into it. “As in, sex between girls and guys? You mean to tell me your dad hasn’t been over this subject with you yet?” Bobby knew damn well John had given him the speech but it was always fun to watch Dean get seven kinds of frustrated with him from time to time. “You see, you have a penis, Dean-o, and a girl has a vagi..”

 

"Christo!" Dean snapped and stood up. He paced stood up and walked into the bathroom, grabbing at the towel on the counter to wipe his face off. Bobby followed him in but didn’t’ say a word about the tear streaks he was scrubbing off. "Dude, I do not need to hear about this from you! I know about fucking. Dad didn't need to tell me. I picked it up on the road."

 

Bobby leaned back against the door and laughed until he thought his sides would burst. Dean was red in the face, more out of indignation that actual embarrassment. Took a lot to make Dean blush but, damn, it was always fun trying. He couldn’t help it. He looked at Dean and started laughing again.

 

"This isn't funny, Bobby..." Dean groaned. "Dad is going to kill me. You don't understand... I wasn't thinking about girls and guys together... I was thinking about girls with me... and guys with me. He's gonna kill me."

 

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Bobby motioned for Dean to take a seat. Weren’t very many spots available so he made himself comfortable on the edge of the sink while Dean sat down on the edge of the tub. “Alright, serious discussion time then. So, okay, you been thinkin’ about sex on both sides of the playin’ field. It’s not as strange as you think, kid. Everyone has those kinds of thoughts when they’re younger. Fantasizing about it doesn’t hurt anyone at all, that’s why it’s called a fantasy to begin with. You can do whatever it is that gets ya off and makes ya feel good without hurting anyone or getting anyone knocked up.”

 

Dean groaned again and scrubbed his hands against his face. "Yeah, fine, that's great, Bobby. But dad's still gonna kill me. He's always lecturing about control... about how chasing after girls will get me in trouble... and now... there's guys, too. That's double the temptation, Bobby."

 

“Alright then, clean the pipes before you go hunting. Easy as that. Won’t be quite so easily distracted if you’ve already taken care of business before hand.” Bobby gave a smirk. 

 

Dean winced and blushed when Bobby told him that. "Bobby... I want to make it go away..."

 

Bobby reached his hand down and opened the small drawer at the sink. Pulling out a small silver flash, he unscrewed the top and took a sip. He reached across the space and offered it to Dean. “You’re gonna need this. I know you’ve snitched before on the booze. Go on, knock it back.” He waited a few moments after Dean took a sip and then took another swig himself before sitting it on the counter. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Dean, but you can’t make it go away. You can damn sure try and smother what you’re feeling, but it’s gonna keep poppin’ right back into your head. So you like the male body,” Bobby shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. The worst thing you could ever do was lie to yourself or force yourself to act according to what the rest of the world wants you to be.”

 

Dean took the flask when it was offered to him again, his hands shaking. He took a swig and looked at Bobby with tortured eyes. "There's one thing worse I can think of... disappointing John Winchester."

 

The room was silent for a few minutes as Bobby warred within himself over what he was about to say. It really wasn’t his place, having *this* conversation with John’s eldest. It would have to stay a secret between the two of them. “Listen, I’m gonna give you an inside scoop on John Winchester. But this has to stay between you and me, kiddo. I’m serious here. You’re dad’ll kill me if he finds out I told ya and not him. So, you look me right square in the eye and make a pact with me. You don’t ever tell a single soul about this. I’m talking about this going with you to your grave.”

 

Bobby was talking to him like he was a man, but he was also asking him to keep a secret from his father. John had always told him the importance of keeping their families secret. Winchesters kept secrets from the outside world, but never each other... that would betray the loyalty they owed each other. Dean held the flask back to Bobby. "I can't make that promise, sir. I shouldn't have brought this up... I should have been able to keep it to myself. It's my problem. I'll deal with it. My dad... he doesn't need to deal with my... weakness."

 

“Dean…Christ, I’ve gone about this all wrong, haven’t I? I keep forgetting just how close you are to your father. If anyone knows it should be me. Alright, it’s gotta be said and then I’ll let you decide on your own.” Bobby lowered himself off the counter, and dropped down in front of Dean. “What you’re going through, what you’re dealing with…it’s not exactly a problem. It’s just the way you are. Your dad…” Bobby paused for a minute, needing to say this the right way without causing any awful side effects. “Your dad would understand what you’re going through. He’s been through it, too. I really want you to think, Dean. I know you’re smarter than you make yourself out to be. John’s no saint. He loved your mom but a man’s got needs. You think hard on this for a minute. Knowing now that your father has the same…leanings…that you do, where do you think he’d turn?”

 

Dean scrambled backwards, eyes wide. “Dad…dad loves my mom!”

 

Eyes widening, Bobby leaned forward and grabbed Dean by the shoulders, trying hard to keep the boy from falling backwards into the tub. “Your dad will always love your mom, Dean. Maybe you’re not ready for this. I think I’m in a bit over my head here on this one. Just…why don’t you go on to bed? Just forget that I even said anything. Just stop guilting yourself over what happened.” Bobby stood up, laying his hand on Dean’s head in a placating gesture and turned to leave.

 

"Bobby...." Dean asked in a hesitant voice that sounded much younger than he wanted it to. "Did he... is dad... because we didn't want him to try and replace my mom?"

 

Leaning his forehead against the door, Bobby worked out the answer in his head. He had to tread carefully here. After a few seconds, he turned to look at Dean. “No one, and I mean no one, could ever replace your mom, Dean. You’ll do well to remember that. You and Sam, that’s all he’s got left. She left a big hole in his heart after she died. Part of your father died right along with her in that fire. Probably thought he’d never find someone he could share himself with like that again. It’s not the same, what he had with her and what he has now. You can’t ever make someone be the one you lost. You just try to be the one who’s ready to pick up the pieces when they need to fall apart. Be a safe place to fall. Doesn’t matter what sex they are. It’s all about security, about family, about being able to trust. And God knows your father doesn’t trust many.”

 

The long, stressful day finally caught up to Dean in that moment. He couldn't process all of this. Dean started to sniff, trying to stop himself from crying like a little kid, even as he slid down the side of the tub to collapse on the linoleum. Once on the floor, he pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face. He didn't hate Bobby. In fact, he was so close to asking Bobby to make it all better.

 

A hand in his hair again and Dean looked up to find Bobby right there next to him. “It’s okay, Dean. Ain’t no one gonna know but us, alright? You go ahead.” An arm wound around his shoulders, just a light touch, not quite hugging. 

 

When Dean felt Bobby touch him, he lost what precious control he had left. He launched himself at Bobby, wrapping the older man in a hug. "Bobby... I don't hate you..." The words were almost unintelligible as he started to sob harder. "There was so much blood..."

 

Bobby just sat there for the longest time with Dean in his arms, rocking and shushing him. His heart broke for the poor kid. He knew it was due to happen ever since he got that first look at Dean behind the wheel of the Impala. Dean was too much like John. You just bottled up all of the pain inside and held tight to it to push you through what needed to be done. Then you tried to keep it bottled up until you were numb. Thank every deity out there that Dean finally broke through it. He was too young to start turning his heart into steel. Ass numb and shirt soaked through with spent tears, Bobby lifted the semi-conscious boy up into his arms as he stood. Dean had finally had his cry, let most of it out. Now he needed the sleep he obviously hadn’t been getting. It was all sorry, blood, scared, and Sammy that kept floating to Bobby’s ears as he tucked him into the bottom bed of the bunk beds he’d made several years ago for them. He rested his hand on Dean’s forehead, shushing and whispering to him until the boy stilled.

 

Bobby leaned down and kissed Dean on the forehead softly before he stood up. He made sure to leave the lights on in the boy's bathroom and walked back to his room. Sammy was sound asleep next to John, curled around his father. When he saw John's worried look, he held up his hand to stop John from talking. "It was rough. Let me take Sammy to Dean first and then we'll talk."

 

John gave a nod and gave Sammy’s back a small pat. “Up and at ‘em, Sammy. Time to go on back to your own room.” A pair of sleepy eyes opened and stared back into John’s. He gave a small smile and rubbed his nose against his youngest son’s. “Off to bed with you.” Sammy yawned and sat up, blinking at Bobby with heavy eyelids.

 

“Fell asleep on the job, son. You’re being demoted,” Bobby chuckled, as he picked the youngest up. “Always gotta be carried, don’t ya?”

 

Sammy was too tired to get Bobby's joke. "I want Dean..." he said and laid his head against Bobby's shoulder, closing his eyes again.

 

Bobby ran his hand down the young boy’s back. “He’s waiting for ya. Let’s go.”

 

He trudged down the hallway with his cargo and found the covers already turned down next to where Dean was sleeping. He’d just started to lay Sammy down when Dean’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, watching them both. He shifted on to his side, burying his face in Sammy’s hair and wrapped an arm around his brother’s waist. “Back to sleep, Sammy. Pancakes in the morning, ‘kay?”

 

That was all it took and both boys were out like a light.

 

Bobby walked to his room with a bit of a heavy heart. The boys weren’t his, but seeing them hurt made him hurt. It twisted up his insides and coming from a family of hunters who had embraced the life for generations, he knew how hard it could be on a child. Bobby opened the door and closed it behind him. He didn't lock it for safety's sake and besides, the boys had been trained since Dean was six to always knock and wait for permission before coming in. John was lying on the bed looking simultaneously pissed off and tired.

 

"It's not good, Johnny."

 

John scratched at his forehead. “Usually isn’t if we end up back here.” The words had more bite than he’d intended. “Sorry, just…tell me what’s going on with my boy. You were gone for a pretty good while.” John winced, his hands automatically going to his ribs as he shifted to sit up against the headboard of the bed. 

 

"He's one ball of messed up guilt like his daddy," Bobby snapped back and then sighed. He sat down on the bed and reached out to check John's ribs again. When John tried to swat his hands away, he stared him down. "He's still a boy, as much as he is a young man, John."

 

“You think I don’t know that? You have any idea how guilty I feel every time we go through one of those Mayberry style towns and the kids are playing ball with their dads?” John slumped back into the bed, no less agitated but too tired to try to even keep up the pretence of not hurting. “This isn’t what I wanted for my boys, Bobby. But this is the hand I got dealt. I’ll be damned if they’re not prepared for what’s gonna get thrown at them in the future.”

 

"Future?" Bobby snorted. "How about now? Have you noticed your oldest isn't bad on the eyes and has..." Bobby stopped, trying to be tactful, even though John always got him riled up. "...a whole lot of curiosity?”

 

“And what the fuck is that suppose to mean!?”

 

"He's cut from the same cloth you are."

 

John stared dumbfounded at Bobby, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. “You listen to me, Singer, and you listen good. You say exactly what the fuck you mean or so help me god I will get out of this bed, cuts, bruised ribs, and all and walk out that front door. This is my son you’re talking about here! Don’t mince words with me!” To emphasize his point, John latched onto Bobby’s wrist squeezing hard.

 

"I was trying to be tactful, you asshole!" Bobby snapped at him. "Your boy just confessed to me that he messed up 'cause he got distracted thinking about other boys. He thought you were gonna fillet him when he found out. He didn't know his daddy liked dick. That plain enough for you? Get your head out of your ass, John Winchester." "

 

“And you fucking told him!? You stupid arrogant sonofabitch! What the hell is wrong with you? He’s fourteen years old and you’re telling him his father’s a goddamn faggot! That whole conversation you had no right to even have with him. That’s for a *parent* to talk to him about! Not you!” Rolling over onto his side, John reached for his pants. Yanking them up from the floor, one of the denim legs flew back and smacked Bobby in the face. “You shredded my damn jeans!” John bellowed as he looked at them.

 

Bobby looked over John's face, trying to find a spot not already covered in a bruise or cut. "You're so goddamn lucky your ugly mug is already beat, or else I would break your teeth out of your head! Damn right I told him... he was torturing himself. Had some fucked up image in his head of you as this super Marine who hated... what did you call it, faggots? Maybe he was right. You gonna beat your own boy? Cause you'll have to get through me first!"

 

John was quick rolling over and grabbing a hold of Bobby in the blink of an eye, mouth open and ready to yell right back. Yell he did, but it was definitely not what he wanted to say. You could hear it, the small yet deafening rip right before the groan came tearing its way out of John’s mouth. “Fuck!”

 

"Fucking idiot," Bobby growled at him and shoved John flat onto his back. "You ripped some of your stitches. I should drug your ass."

 

Face twisted in pain, John gave a sharp hiss as Bobby’s fingers poked around the wound. “Damn right you should. That way I don’t try to kill you while you’re sleeping. Ouch! Damn it, Bobby! You trying to rip the fucking thing open again with your bare hands? Go get me a wet cloth. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.”

 

"Serves you right for being such an asshole about this," Bobby grumbled. He grabbed a clean shirt, which happened to be one of his favourites, and pressed it over the wound. He put John's hand over the shirt and told him, "Press down on this. I'll be right back."

 

John grumbled under his breath and watched as Bobby left the room. He waited all of ten seconds before he was climbing out of the bed, even if it was pretty slow going. He limped down the hallway to Sammy and Dean’s designated room, pushing on the slightly open door as quietly as possible. Hand pressed tightly to the makeshift bandage, John made his way over to the boys. He stared down at the both of them and closed his eyes tightly to stop the tears from coming. Sammy was curled up with Dean’s arm still around his waist. Dean’s face was buried in the longish brown locks that shifted when he breathed out. He knew the last few days had been hard on all of them, case proven by the fact that Sammy had his thumb in his mouth. John had pretty much broken him of that habit. Unless the kid was really stressed out was the only time that it made an appearance now. He reached a hand out and very gently extricated the thumb, watching Sammy’s face screw up for just a moment before settling back into comfortable sleep. He let his hand stray over his youngest son’s forehead before running a finger across Dean’s jaw line. “I’m so sorry, kiddo.”

 

At the sound of his dad's voice, Dean’s eyes fluttered open. “Dad? Need me to get my rifle?” he mumbled, not even half awake. John felt more guilt when that was the first thing Dean asked. Dean snuggled closer to Sammy and sighed, “It’s under the bed.”

 

John’s throat had a horrible lump and he coughed to clear it. “No, son. Everything’s fine. Just go on back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

"I'll take my punishment like a man," Dean said and his voice broke off into a whisper. "You'll see..."

 

John couldn’t say anything, just stood there watching as Dean’s breathing evened back out and he drifted back to sleep. Where had he gone so wrong? Sure, Dean was everything he’d hoped he could turn his boy into. Yet, the kid carried more on his shoulders than any child of fourteen should have to. Curse and a blessing all wrapped up in one still-growing bundle. And now, the sudden interest in guys of all things… matters were going to get a lot more complicated. John saw things in black and white most of the time. It’s either right or it’s wrong. Unless it came to this topic, this interest in the same sex. Labels were one thing he’d never let himself use for the most part, at least not on himself or his friends. It was such a complicated thing in his own head. How the hell was he supposed to explain it to a fourteen year old? Heading back to the doorway, he turned to stand and stare at his two sons sleeping on the bed. He never even heard Bobby come up behind him.

 

Bobby laid a gentle hand on John's shoulder. He knew exactly what was going through his friend's head. "You're not a bad father, Johnny."

 

John pushed past him, hobbling his way back to Bobby’s room with the man right in tow behind him. “Just get me patched back up so I can sleep.”

 

Bobby followed John back into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. "You gonna deal with the fact that I had to tell your son about us?"

 

John carefully lowered himself on the bed and threw one arm across his eyes. “Leave it for now, Bobby.” John’s voice was tired but there was enough venom behind it to get his point across. “Plenty of time to worry about that in the morning.” He grimaced as his other hand reached down to peel off the makeshift bandage. “You just gonna stand there or are you gonna take care of this anyways? I’d like to get some sleep at some point tonight.”

 

Bobby grunted, choosing not to acknowledge John's outburst. He worked methodically, checking John's wounds again and ended up replacing two stitches. He knew John didn't want to talk about it and it made him wonder if the stubborn bastard would try to pack up in the morning to hit the road. For the boy's sake, he wouldn't let that happen. Bobby had known John for a long time and he couldn't let this go.

 

“Would ya stop with the thinking already? I can hear your brain trying to explode and leak out your ears.” John sighed. “Just…turn the damn light off and get in the bed, Singer.”

 

"You're not gonna smother me in my sleep?"

 

“Depends on how loud you snore.”

 

"I'm surprised you can hear me over your own sawing logs." He pulled off his shirt and got up to shut off the lights. John was already in his boxers after Bobby cut his jeans off. His own exhaustion, both physically and mentally, were starting to wear on him.

 

There was silence for a little while as both men felt the pull of sleep calling to them. The house gave off its standard creaks and groans. There was a bit of talking that floated down the hallway from the boys’ room for a few moments and then it was quiet again. 

 

“Hey, Bobby?” John’s voice felt like it came from far off, like the other side of the galaxy.

 

Bobby rolled onto his side and looked at John in the blue light filtering in from the yard light. "Yeah?"

 

John waited a moment before speaking. “Thanks for lookin’ out for my boys.”

 

One of the unwritten rules was they didn't talk about the past. But John's boys help stopped the ache in his own heart. "They're good boys."

 

“Unlike their grumpy over-bearing father. Wouldn’t trust anyone else with them. Not to mention you’re the only one they’ll listen to outside of me.” John snorted. “And believe me, that’s sayin’ something right there.”

 

"Dean broke down and cried in my arms tonight, John," Bobby admitted. "He's terrified that you'll hate him. That's why I told him."

 

“You’d think that after all we’d been through I’d be the last person he’d be afraid of.” John saw Bobby’s smirk in the half light of the room. “Okay, so maybe he’s a little afraid of me, but that’s expected. I’m his father. Can’t let kids run over ya. But because he’s having these…urges. I figured it would be something he’d say to me. He’s open about everything else.”

 

"Is he?" Bobby challenged with a snort. His hand reached out and settled comfortably on John's hip. "He doesn't see you as a man, Johnny. Your his daddy... you're bigger than life. On top of that, you used to be a soldier and fight evil like some superhero in the comic books. He's never seen you with a woman and you still wear your wedding ring."

 

“Well, it’s not like I’ve gone out of my way to make fun of anyone. Hell, I don’t even think homosexuality has ever come up in a conversation.” John absently shifted closer to Bobby. “So it looks like I’m pretty much damned either way. Talking or not talking about it with either of them still has me at a stalemate. I honestly don’t even know where I’m going to begin with him in the morning about this. He’s gonna know you said something to me and feel like you’ve gone and betrayed his trust.”

 

Bobby hesitated before he asked, but he had to put all options out there when it came to the boys. "You want to stop what we got, John?"

 

John jerked so sharply that he almost popped another stitch. "Oh, that would go over real well in Dean's eyes now wouldn't it? Here you tell him that we're together and then suddenly we're not? You are one giant contradiction, my friend. And for the record, no I don't want to stop. If I wanted to stop this you'd know it."

 

"Just putting all of the cards out on the table." His hand was still on John's hip and he pressed down to keep John from moving again. "It's not like we're... ah, hell, I don't know what we are."

 

“You know I don’t do labels. We’re just…I don’t know. Us, I guess.” John’s hand covered Bobby’s and he gave it a squeeze. “You’ve been all kinds of touchy-feel tonight with me. Did I freak you out, too?” A hint of teasing was in John’s voice and he instantly regretted it. It was still a bit too soon to be making jokes about a hunt gone wrong.

 

Bobby didn't want to talk or think about John getting injured, let alone dying. "And you say I'm full of contradictions? One minute you're throwing words like faggot around and the next minute you don't like labels. You better watch how you talk around your boy, John, I'm warning you. You didn't see him tonight."

 

John’s grip changed on Bobby’s hand, tightening into a steel grip. “In case you forgot we were arguing earlier when I said that. I know damn well you say shit you don’t mean when you’re angry.” Forcing himself to relax, John let go of Bobby’s wrist and turned his head away. “These last two days have been nothing but one complete fucked up mess. Let’s just get some sleep before we end up arguing again. Last thing we need to do is wake the boys and have them wondering what the hell is going on. They’ve been through enough.”

 

"Yeah," Bobby agreed and didn't say anything else. He shifted closer and wondered if John would stop him. Earlier, he'd told Dean that a man had needs and that hadn't been a lie. Right now he needed something John and him seldom did. Bobby rubbed his cheek against John's giving him a chance to pull away.

 

John stiffened noticeably at first, as if he was unsure of what to do with himself. But after a few seconds, he turned his head, resting his own forehead against Bobby’s. “Bobby…”

 

"Just let me..." Bobby whispered in a hoarse voice. He shifted his head and his lips brushed against John's. It had been months since he last kissed John and then they had been drunk.

 

It had all been too much. As much as John had played it cool since he’d gotten hurt, deep down he’d been scared shitless. Scared for his boys, for himself, for Bobby finding him too late in the car and leaving him behind. John’s hand came up to rest on the back of Bobby’s neck, pulling him in closer. This wasn’t their usual way. Not a kiss like this. But for once, John just let himself go with it, even when his own body started to shake at the delayed reaction of adrenaline and fear. He just clung tighter to Bobby and let it all go.

 

Bobby's arms went around John, pulling him closer to offer him comfort. In that moment, John reminded him of Dean. "You're safe here, John," Bobby promised him. "So are your boys."

 

John didn't sob, didn't weep, nothing outright heart wrenching. His breakdown was nothing more than shattered breathing, a broken moan, and lots of hot tears. Hands fisted in the sheet that had been covering him slowly began to ease up a little at a time and soon enough, even the mighty John Winchester succumbed to sleep.


End file.
